Recessional
by SoDapper
Summary: "Who are you, taking coffee, no sugar?" An AU one-shot bubbline fic inspired by a Vienna Teng song.


**A/N: This is the result of another sick, sleepless night. It's inspired by a song called Recessional by Vienna Teng.**

**Enjoy. **

* * *

It was winter break. I was on my way to return to my parents and figured the train would be the fastest way. I calculated the cost and time it would take. Yes, the train was much more efficient than the bus. I sat down in a fairly empty car of this train. I was hoping not to be disturbed for this trip. I even brought my favorite book; _Relativity: The Special and the General Theory_. I flipped to the page I left of on, and began to read.

In the corner of my eye, I could see people slowly filing into the car at each stop. They only create a low murmur throughout the train, and I find that I can still focus on my reading. That is, until one stop, where a voice finally interrupts me.

"Is there anyone sitting here?" It's a feminine voice, beautiful and clear. But not something I was expecting to hear anytime soon. The car still contained a scarce amount of people. There were plenty of seats that were completely empty, I was sure. I looked up and around to see that this was true; she could have sat anywhere she liked. So why here, next to me?

My eyes wandered back to her. The girl herself was something to see. She couldn't have been much older than me. Her dark, sheeny hair reached her ankles and provided quite the contrast against her pale skin. She was wearing a red pea coat and black skinny jeans, which were neatly tucked into red boots. One arm was holding onto a strap that went over her shoulder and connected to the black case behind her back, which probably contained some kind of instrument, most likely a guitar. Her eyes were such a strange shade of hazel that they looked almost _red_. She grinned, revealing two very sharp-looking canine teeth amongst a beautiful set of pearly whites, and cocked her head to the side. She made a small waving motion with her hand.

"Hello? Anybody there?" She says teasingly.

"Oh! Yes! I'm sorry." I say quickly, feeling my face heat up, realizing I had probably been staring. "I mean, no! No one is sitting here. You may…sit here. If you would like." I was rambling, as usual.

"Oh, whew! I'm glad," She says, starting to set herself beside me. "For a second, I thought—"

But she was interrupted by the sudden start of the train, which shook her with such a force that she ended up ramming her face straight into my chest. I yelped at the sudden jolt, rather than from pain. She quickly pulled away and eased back into her side of the seat, pushing the case back as well.

"Oh, oh. Ohh my God. I am **so** sorry!" She quickly apologizes, blushing quite furiously.

"No, no! It was my fault!" I say. "I should've given you an answer faster, and you could have been sitting comfortably without the train taking you by surprise like that."

"Oh well," She sighs, chuckling a bit. "Not my greatest first impression." She flips a loose strand of hair from her face and holds out a hand. "I'm Marceline. Marceline Abadeer." I look at her hand for a moment before grasping it lightly.

"I'm Bonnibel Bubblegum. Most people just call me Bubblegum, but—"

"Bonni, huh? I like it." She grins again, flashing those teeth. It's a trademark of hers, I can already tell.

She tells me a lot about herself. She's also a sophomore in college, like me. She goes to Nightsphere University, as a music major. She plays the bass, which is what she's carrying with her. She says she can play anything, though, and I begin to name a few instruments. It turns out that she can, indeed, play acoustic, electric, or rhythm guitar. She can also play the keyboard and piano. She gives me a wink, and adds that she can also "blow a mean saxophone." It makes the heat return to my cheeks.

She talks about her band, The Scream Queens. She talks about her twin brother named Marshall Lee, whom she enjoys wreaking havoc with, but now misses dearly due to their separation in college. She's excited to see him back at home, but she also seems discomforted about being home. When I ask, she says it's because she'll have to see her "old man" again. I don't question her any further about it.

I talk too; mostly ramble on about my studies at Dulce University. I talk about my double major in biochemistry and biomedical engineering. I talk about the research I conduct in order to make the insulin from a diabetes patient's pancreas more efficient in picking up extraneous glucose in the blood. As I ramble on about my newest discoveries, I wonder if she finds this all boring. But she smiles, nods, and responds to me as I talk excitedly.

I change the topic to my cousin, Bubba, whom I treasure as a brother. I sympathize with her about her twin brother, and say that I am also happy to see my cousin again. I do not have any siblings, I tell her. I also talk about the boy in my neighborhood that I used to babysit, from time to time. His name is Finn and he's a real handful, but also a real sweetheart. He is also like a brother to me. I try to avoid talking about parents because I know she does not seem to like the topic. However, when she asks about them, I have no other choice but to speak of them. They are well-respected, caring, and kind.

"You're lucky to have them." She says, looking out into the distance. I worry that she may be a little envious. However, she shakes her head, smiles, and asks, "Or are they lucky to have you?" I smile back.

We're silent for a moment. We see movement from the train's window and realize that there are small snowflakes cascading down from the sky. The first snow. We stare at it in awe, as if we've never seen snow before. I can't remember how much time passed by while we simply watched the snowflakes.

"It's so beautiful here," She says. I look back at her and see that she seems to be in a trance, gazing outside the window.

"It is," I agree. She slowly shakes her head.

"This moment now." All of a sudden, she seems distant, like I don't even know her. And I realize then, that I really _don't_ know her. We just met. And talked a little. So why does it _feel_ like I know her? As I'm lost in my thoughts, she snaps out of her dreamy state and says, "Oh, sorry. I get lost in these kinds of moments." I'm not sure what she means. After a moment, she grumbles something about the heat in the train.

She turns her attention to her red pea coat, which she starts unbuttoning. She's wearing a red flannel shirt and a black satin scarf underneath it. Red and black must be her color scheme. I smile because it suits her well. Pink and purple suit me, I would like to think.

She folds her pea coat and leaves it in her lap. For a few seconds, she stares at me, front and center. I'm not used to this. And it makes me uncomfortable. No, not uncomfortable. It makes me giddy with excitement. It makes my heart race and my face feel hot. She's leaning into me slowly, and I panic. I can't even think.

There's no _room_ for any other thought. Is she…about to do what I think she's about to do? I know I don't want this! I swear, I don't want this.

There's a reason not to want this…but I forgot.

She leans into my face, but nothing happens. She's looking down, into my lap. She's reading the time on my watch. I let out a breath from relief. Or is it disappointment?

"Great! Still a few hours to go. Perfect. Enough time for a nap." She says, yawning a bit. She sees the confused look on my face, and says "You okay there, Bonni?"

"Y-yeah." I reply. What was that? I felt so lost in her eyes for a second. And I thought maybe she wanted to do _that. _What was I thinking? She doesn't even _know_ me.

"Okay, good. Sorry about being spacey. Seeing the snow reminded me of something…nostalgic." She lets out a big yawn. "Well, I'm about to nap for a bit." She closes her eyes and leans back on her seat. I watch her drift off to sleep. I blush and look away once I realize what I'm doing. I go back to watching the snowflakes outside the window before I, too, drift off into sleep.

A sharp noise that sounds like an alarm wakes me up. I shoot up, awake. Marceline is still fast asleep. She leans on my shoulder with her hair falling forward and her mouth all askew. I giggle at how silly she looks, when I realize where we are. We're at the last stop, to Ooo City. The alarm is still ringing. There's flashing lights in front of the car, signs that read, "Missing passengers, we're looking for you. This is the last stop. Please exit the car."

I'm surprised at how heavy a sleeper this girl is. She dreams through the noise as her weight presses against me. Her face is deep in the grooves of my corduroy jacket.

"Marceline?" I whisper softly, not really wanting to disturb her. But we need to leave. "Marceline!" I say louder. She snaps awake, looking around.

"Who what where?" She says, clearly confused.

"Um. We're at the last stop. In Ooo City. Truthfully, that's perfect for me because it's my stop but—"

"Oh, good! It's my stop, too." She says, grinning and giving me a thumbs up. "What are the chances, huh?"

"Y-yeah!" I say, happy for the serendipitous occurence. We start getting up and gathering our luggage. We hop out of the train and start walking out the station.

"We're real lucky, Bonni, that we're in the same city." She says, "I wouldn't have wanted for us to part yet." I hadn't even thought about it. I never questioned where she was going. I think I just knew, that it wasn't quite time for us to part.

"Me neither, Marceline." I say.

"Come on, then!" She gives me a reassuring smile, and then takes my hand into hers while we walk. My heart goes crazy at her touch. My palms get sweaty. Maybe it means nothing. Yeah, it probably means nothing. It doesn't mean anything, but I'm afraid to move my hand away when she finally lets it go.

We decide to go to a café to get something to warm us up, although it isn't particularly cold. The air is slightly chilly and still a little wet from the light snow from a little earlier on. We stop by the first café we see, an outdoor café. Neither of us mind. I order a hot chocolate with whipped cream. She orders black coffee. How much more different can two people get? We sit at a small table as soon as we both receive our drinks.

We talk more. She tells me that she moved here two years ago, and that's why we never met. Because we both left for college as soon as she moved and we just never got the opportunity. As I watch her sip her coffee, I can't help but get that feeling again. That I don't _know_ this person, but I do. It's the most contradictory feeling. She's speaking, but I can't hear her. I've heard her story. Words can mean everything and nothing. I want to find _her_ in those offhand remarks.

And then there's that black coffee. It really bothers me. As she takes a sip, I absent-mindedly finger the sugar packets in the middle of the table.

"Marceline, don't you want any sugar?" I finally say, hoping I don't sound as bothered as I feel. She looks at me as if I have two heads.

"What? Nah. I like my coffee black and gross." She says, sticking her tongue out. I take a sip of my sugary hot chocolate and wonder, who does that? Just you, Marceline Abadeer. She continues drinking her coffee while looking off into the distance.

Who _are_ you, taking coffee, no sugar?

_Are you my opposite? Are you my other half? Have I been searching for you? _

All of a sudden, I'm embarrassed, worried my thoughts are escaping and echoing through the street signs. But I can't stop the thoughts. They run through my mind; meeting her, having her crash against me, her face leaning against me, her hands in mine. Was it all meant to be? What is this feeling? Why is my heart beating so fast, my palms all sweaty? What is this ailment?

I'd read about it before. My friends talk about it, though I never understood it.

Love.

Love? Me? With you? I don't even know you. Who are you, Marceline Abadeer? You're just a stranger I met on the train.

A stranger in the shell of a lover.

What little passage of time it took to make me realize this. Only four hours we were together. Two of those were spent sleeping. And there was no denying it. I was in love.

She finally speaks. And upon my realization about how I feel about her, my whole perspective changes. Her words are like rain. The sweetest sound.

"Whoa, Bonni! Would you look at the time? Yeah, I gotta get home before the old man has a fit." She picks up her guitar and bag. I watch her silently. I can't move. "This was…really nice, Bonni. I'm glad I met you." She puts her guitar on her back. "Bonni?" I can't move. I can't respond. I'm frozen in shock. Why can't I say anything? I open my mouth the slightest, but close it before any words come out.

She looks…hurt? Confused? But then she smiles and shrugs.

"Well anyway," she says, "I'll see you around."

She turns and starts walking away. She throws her cup on the way out.

And as I watch her retreating back, I know what's happening. I'm letting her walk away. This girl, this girl that I'm in love with. My first love. She's walking away.

No. She's not just that. We're the complete opposite of one another. Two halves of a whole. We complete each other. I need her. She needs me.

She's my soulmate.

And she's walking away.

I unfreeze, my legs finally move. I get up and run towards her in one quick movement. She's only thirty feet away. I leave my bags, leave my pride. I'm crying. You would be, too, if you saw your soulmate possibly walk out of your life forever.

"Marceline!" I shout as soon as I'm halfway there.

She stops and turns around. And as she sees me, her face lights up in delight. I throw my arms around her as soon as I reach her. I cling to her.

And before I know it, I'm confessing that I think we should be together, that we're meant for each other, and that I couldn't let her walk away.

And she flashes that toothy grin that I fell in love with and tells me she knew, somehow, that I wouldn't let her walk away.

She was only waiting for me to come to her.


End file.
